


A Guiding Star

by sailorgreywolf



Series: Hetalia Rare Pair Week 2020 [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:15:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24841399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorgreywolf/pseuds/sailorgreywolf
Relationships: England/Portugal (Hetalia)
Series: Hetalia Rare Pair Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796935
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	A Guiding Star

The night sky was cloudless above the island of Terceira and England was looking up at the sky. The drone of airplane engines had dulled for the night. They would certainly resume the next day as bombers took off bound for Germany. It was the sound of war, and he was tiring of it.

The skies over London had been so dangerous for a time that he had worried that he would not turn his gaze casually to the stars again. When there had been Luftwaffe bombers every night, the future had felt especially uncertain.

As a naval country who had spent more time at sea than on dry land, he felt unmoored without the stars. With the clear sky, he could see the constellations and there was a warm familiarity to it.

Admittedly, he had felt lost for years, even before the war. It had been easier when he could follow the stars at sea. He was well aware of what else was making him feel so directionless, someone that had been so present for the past few days since he had arrived with the Royal Air Force.

He turned, and saw Portugal sitting outside of one of the command buildings. He was as handsome as ever, even if the stress of the war was straining him as much as anyone.

They hadn’t been lovers in almost half a century, and England had spent almost every day of those years missing him. It had felt like missing a piece of his own heart, and none of his imperial success had managed to fill it.

The thought had been even more acute of late, since the war would likely strip him of his wealth and force him to make good on the promises of self determination for his empire. It was time, he though, to finally rectify it.

England sat silently next to Portugal and looked at him for a moment. Portugal’s eyes turned to him, but the man said nothing. Hoping to break the silence, England said, “Isn’t the sky beautiful tonight?”

Portugal sighed, and said, “I suppose it is.”

There was another long silence as Portugal looked at him, and then up at the sky. It was clear that the man did not want to have a conversation, but England could not balk when he had just summoned this courage.

England drew in a deep breath and prepared himself for what he was going to say. He knew it was either going to start a fight or open a conversation.

He said, “These stars are so familiar to me. I always saw these stars when I was destined for Lisbon. I remember-”

Portugal cut him off sharply before he could continue, “Please do not start reminiscing, Arthur. I do not want to hear it.”

He could have guessed that Portugal would react that way, but he knew he had press the subject. He said, “Why not?”

He knew the answer. It was because their breakup had made the memories painful, but he could not so easily let it go. Portugal rounded on him, “How about this one: Do you remember when you gave me an ultimatum?”

England nodded, uncomfortably sure where this was going. He said, “Over Rhodesia. I remember.”

It had been the worst mistake he ever made and he knew it. He could not understand what blind arrogance had made him think that Portugal would take that well.

Portugal replied, “And do you remember when I told you that I would leave if you put your empire before me? Do you remember that you threw away six centuries of friendship for a bit of land in Africa?”

England wondered if Portugal could see the way that he cringed at the question. He remembered it too well. He had played it over in his head many times since it had happened. He wished he had said something instead of standing there mute while the love of his life stormed out.

He said, trying to express the deep regret that he had been ruminating on for decades, “I do, and I there is nothing I can say to justify that.”

Portugal was clearly chewing the inside of his lower lip in frustration, and England knew it because he knew the man well. He could see the subtle movement beneath the skin, and he knew it was a nervous habit.

Portugal then said, “So why are you trying to talk to me about this?” England could tell that he was putting effort into distancing himself, and it pulled at his heartstrings.

He knew Portugal was a kinder man than he was being. It felt like an intentional wall. England drew in a breath and said bluntly, “Why can’t we be friends? You are still honoring our alliance, but you won’t talk to me.”

It had been a surprise to him that Portugal had kept their alliance during the Great War, and offered to take his lead during this war as well. He had worried that the problems between them would manifest in politics.

He heard Portugal pull in a deep breath like he was trying to calm himself. Then he answered, “You needed me to stay neutral to keep Antonio out of the war. I am willing to do what you want me to so that my brother doesn’t side with the fascists.”

England repeated the question, “But why can’t we be friends?”  
The last bit of restraint seemed to break and Portugal said, “Because I can’t let myself!”

His eyes were full of pain as he continued, “I still care about you too much. If I let you be my friend, I will love you again, and I cannot do that. I gave you the choice, and you showed me that you did not love me as much as your empire.”

His voice sounded like it was quavering as he spoke, like there were tears threatening to break through. England had the overwhelming urge to pull him into his arms, and comfort him. Any time when they had been together he would have done so. He had never been able to stand seeing Portugal so upset.

But, he knew that he could alleviate this pain another way. He said, not bothering to choose his words carefully, “To hell with my empire!”

Portugal’s expression of pain and anger turned to shock, like he could not quite believe what he was hearing.

England knew he had his attention now to say what he had been thinking for so long, “I was misguided and wrong to do what I did. I thought I could rule the world, and that was arrogant of me. I’ve realized how much I have lost myself over these past decades. Power by itself is so empty.”

He paused and saw Portugal’s sea green eyes fixed on him, waiting for him to continue. It was an encouraging sign that the man was not rejecting him yet. He had to take the floor while he had it.

England continued, “You were so loyal that I took you for granted. Being without you these decades has felt like missing half of myself. This war is probably going to cost me my empire, and I don’t even care. I know you don’t have to accept my apology. But I am deeply sorry, and if you ever find it in your heart to forgive me, I would like to start again. I still love you.”

His heart was pounding like he had been sprinting by the time he finished. It was an anxious thing to be so honest.

Portugal looked at him for a moment with an expression that was frustratingly difficult to read. England felt himself getting flushed and anxious as he waited. Portugal then said, his tone impossible to interpret, “I just want to ask you one thing first.”

England could not guess what it was, but he was too eager to answer anything if it meant reconciliation. He said, “Of course. Anything for you.“

Then an incredibly familiar smile appeared on his face, it was one part sincere happiness and one part mischief. Portugal said, “How does it taste to swallow your pride like that?”  
England chuckled, not because it was inherently funny, but out of pure relief. He replied, the laugh making his voice uneven, “A bit bitter.”

Portugal laughed, and the sound made England’s heart jump in quite a different way. When the laugh died, Portugal said, his smile giving way to a look of serious contemplation, “I think we should focus on surviving this war first. But, when it is over, I would like to try again.”

It was the best answer that England could hope for, and he would not ask for more than that. His heart already felt lighter at the idea that they would try to fix their relationship.

He said, “Thank you.”  
Unexpectedly, Portugal leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, and said, quietly, “I have missed you fiercely.”


End file.
